


The GodSpoken (the god-accursed)

by arysthaeniru



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: F/M, Navel-Gazing, fem!yukimura, lots of blood, partially inspired by the people of path from ender's game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2016-01-22
Packaged: 2018-05-15 11:34:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5783851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arysthaeniru/pseuds/arysthaeniru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sanada will never be able to wash away the stains of bloodshed on his hands, for the gods no longer will it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The GodSpoken (the god-accursed)

**Author's Note:**

> Written originally for Sumiya, for her birthday, back almost six months ago. I planned on adding more, but well, it was just too sad a universe for me to be able to properly sink myself into.

The battle between the worthy and the unrighteous had raged for ten days, with the blood soaking so deeply into the grass, that Sanada had wondered whether the grass would grow back crimson-red the following spring. And even if the shameful ingrates could succeed through backside whispering and the insidious corruption of the imperial courts; when it came to the true and pure battlefield, Sanada and the righteous men of Rikkai would always be the victors. 

Still, the battlefield brought little comfort for Sanada Genichirou, Lord over the Radiant and Glittering Eastern Seas, the god-spoken ( _the god-accursed_ ), despite the cheerful attitude of his men around him. 

Upon arriving back at home, his punishment struck him, as a lightning bolt from above, and even Sanada’s famed self-control could not spare him, not after the wretched journey home, sword barely clean and his hands trembling as he'd one-handedly ridden his horse and pushed down the need for cleanliness. Dismounting his steed, without a thought for the saddle, he practically ran for the baths, pushing past the maids and servants, who watched him go, with barely concealed worry. Upon entering the onsen, Sanada pulled off the layers of hakama, clean for the most part, but with occasional stains of the mud from the battlefield and the splatterings of his victory, and practically dived for the buckets of water, pulled directly from the well outside, not even waiting for a servant to come and heat them. 

He washed himself clean, over and over, underneath the piercing gaze of the gods, carved into the walls. The cold water of the bath barely fazed him, as he poured bucket upon bucket over his head; cleaning, scrubbing, striving to purge himself from these shameful tremours, purifying his soul entirely. On the eighteenth bath, Sanada was so eager for the torment to be over, that had it not been for the watchful eye of their Niou, he would have almost drowned from the desire to feel clean again.

The crawling overtook his every sense; until he could almost see the insects and the slime crawling in front of his eyeballs, until even the clean white tiles underneath his feet felt like they had just been assaulted by the muddy rice paddies. With a frustrated sigh, Sanada pulled himself from the baths with difficulty. This could not be solved by man-made water. Not even stopping to dry himself or properly clothe himself beyond a loose robe, Sanada staggered outside, through the winding corridors of the house, leaving dripping puddles of water in his wake.

The blood of the infidels had long since disappeared from his skin (even if his rubbed-raw skin threatened to let the blood from his capillaries well up), but still the gods persisted in this punishment. 

Collapsing at the entrance to their small shrine to the ancestors, Sanada poured the shrine-blessed water at the entrance over his puffy fingers, murmuring prayers under his breath and trying to not to let his inward discomfort manifest itself. It was long past the hour of sleep, but he could not, _would_ not be able to rest until this was over. The tired servants were watching his actions from the corners of the main house, their worry and annoyance mingling with weariness, a burden on Sanada’s shoulders. He wanted to shout at them to go sleep, go away from here, but even the slightest pause in saying these prayers would result in having to start again. 

Exhaling heavily, Sanada leant back on his heels and reached his dripping hands up to the red torii gate and the sky, in silent supplication to the impassive, unrelenting forces that dictated his life. _Have I not done your bidding perfectly? I killed the infidels and have purified myself for the sins of taking lives. Must I give my own in penance?_ he pleaded, silently. 

The gods were silent, and if anything, the sensation of his insides crawling and writhing in fury, just intensified. Bearing the pain with resigned grace, Sanada started again, his low, hoarse voice cracking a little on the first prayer. 

And suddenly, in the throes of his pain and devotion, two small hands weighed down on his shoulders. Only one person in this household had the authority and the nerve to do this, so Sanada continued with his prayers, waiting for an explanation. 

“If you are looking for penance, he has done enough. If you are looking for purity, his skin has now been borne anew.” her voice intoned, calmly, not loudly, but enough to carry into the main chamber of the temple and back towards the breathlessly waiting servants. “If...if you look for pain, I suffer enough for both of us. Reconsider your punishment. This has been enough.”

And as she said those words, the punishment of the gods desisted, and Sanada was left kneeling in front of the red torii gate and the effigies of his ancestors and namesakes, wet knees buried deep in the grass, stinging now from the sudden loss of pain. This was...not supposed to be possible. 

Craning his head slowly, to look up into the gaunt and pale face above him, Sanada exhaled shakily. “How did you do that?” he implored, voice raw and hoarse from his hours of toil. The servants murmured loudly amongst themselves, relief everywhere drowning out her quiet response. But the look in her bright eyes revealed her unwillingness to explain anything significant, anyway. 

“Come inside,” she said, instead as the voices died down, slow and lilting. “Your hands are bleeding and the gods have remembered once again that they must constantly punish and humble their best channeler.” Her smile was bitter, but she offered Sanada a hand up, nevertheless. 

With difficulty, they hobbled back inside, in pain, dripping wet but ultimately relieved. 

(X)

“They are getting worse.” Yanagi Renji said, the moment that Sanada stepped inside his room, after a long day of dealing with petitions and news that he’d missed from other kingdoms while fighting. There had been little chance for recovery, besides his four hours of sleep, and his skin still felt a little tight, but Sanada, used to much worse, had tuned it out, for the most part. “I timed it to have lasted six hours and twenty four minutes. The longest period any godspoken person has suffered while performing penance. This concerned the Kingdom.”

Sanada exhaled heavily, kneeling in seiza opposite his best advisor. Yanagi did not much treat him like a godspoken warrior, for which Sanada was immensely grateful. On most days, when the exhaustion wasn't weighing down on his shoulders. “Blast them all to Yomi; I extinguished an entire line of men, of course the gods wanted recompense!” he exclaimed, frown on his face. “What I want to know is why Seiko could remove their punishment from my shoulders!” 

Yanagi poured him a cup of jasmine tea, wordlessly, and carefully murmured the words of the tea ceremony, pausing to let Sanada press the tips of his bandaged fingers against the rim of the cups, in a small blessing. Finally, he handed the cup to Sanada, who drained it in one gulp, and placed it down, leaning forward expectantly. 

Yanagi’s smile was bland, as he took his own sip of tea. “I know nothing beyond my approximate guesses.” he hedged, his pale fingers settling against the rim of the chinabone. 

“And you are guessing..?” asked Sanada, impatiently. He had spent the night with Seiko, yet had not gotten a single word from her. He wanted answers now, from the one person he could count on for them. 

Yanagi chuckled, his hair shaking with the force of his dark mirth. “You will not like it. And she will not let you forbid her anything.” At Sanada’s uneasy look, he clarified with the slow tone, used to explain something to a child. “She took on your pain. That must be what she meant by her last words and her uncharacteristic contact with you. The other alternative is that she controls the gods--but if that was possible, would she not convince them to free her from her ailment?” 

Yanagi had been right, he didn’t like it at all. 

“So she is absorbing my punishment. How do I make her give it back?” But the moment the words left his mouth, he grimaced. There was no way to _make_ Yukimura Seiko, greatest of the godspoken and previous Lord of Rikkai, do _anything_. And Yanagi, seeing that understanding, leant forward to place a comforting hand over Sanada’s own. 

“She did it because she loves you. Do not spurn that gift, Genichirou.” Yanagi advised, gently, pouring Sanada another cup of tea, without any of the ritual. “Besides, you had been hurting for too long.” 

Sanada frowned, arms across his chest, and he could almost hear some of the gods concurring with his disapproval at these words. Who was Yanagi to criticize the gods for punishing their faithful servant? But Yanagi either didn’t seem to notice or was just ignoring Sanada’s expression, ruffling through the papers at his desk behind the tea pot. “The moment that you broke the three hour, five minute record we have so far, I sent out a notice to the other kingdoms. I sent notice again with the final timin-- don’t give me that look, Genichirou: I didn’t include Seiko’s miracle, and these sorts of records are key to understanding how the gods affect you godspoken.”

What did the gods think of their actions being dissected like this, for ‘science’? The fact that Yanagi was still alive was probably testament to their tolerance of it, but they always started murmuring disapprovingly when it was mentioned in Sanada’s vicinity, which couldn’t help but cloud his opinions on it, a little. Nevertheless, it was progress in science that lead to the absolute victory that the gods so often demanded from him. He didn’t understand this paradox, but yet, nobody expect him to understand; just to obey and lead well. 

“And what do the other kingdoms make of it?” asked Sanada, wearily. He already internally knew the answer, but Yanagi evidently wanted to talk about it, so it had to be important, even if Sanada was reviled by the memories of the endless crawling, washing and his own weak attempt to end his life from the night before. Had it truly been so long? Every punishment that he received from the gods, for not fulfilling their duties, felt like it lasted for an eternity. 

There was another pause for Yanagi to start rummaging again, and Sanada braced himself for the worst. If Yanagi hadn’t managed to memorize it, this was probably tiresomely long. Instead, Yanagi only pulled out a small parchment, barely a scrap of paper. 

“ _Renji, they’re coming. I advised against it, but Atobe’s godspoken says that this is what is necessary. I can do nothing to prevent it, but I can at least warn you._ ” Yanagi read, blandly. “ _From Sadaharu._ Of course, he does not tell me what they mean to do, but I asked Niou for a reading. He’s currently in the hospital, after attempting to throw himself into the nearest brazier. I take this to mean that it’s nothing good.”

Yanagi’s report of this was so cold, but Sanada sucked his breath in, jaw jutting out in frustration. “He saw something so awful he had to punish himself?” asked Sanada, lowly. At Yanagi’s nod, Sanada leant back, expression grim. The tea in Yanagi’s pot was growing cold. “He has never shown the typical symptoms of the godspoken, but yet, he acted just like us...” The thought only acted as a confusing factor. What was going on? 

“They are not just coming to kill us. They must be coming to desecrate us entirely...” Yanagi finished, his mood just as dark as Sanada’s. “Because they think your sin was too great, they will commit the same sin, themselves.” 

And Sanada paled suddenly, gripping the teacup too tightly, as the implications hit him. The rim cracked, but Sanada paid it no heed. “Seiko had to take the pain from me. If this is how they react to six hours, what will they think of that knowledge?”

Yanagi nodded, his smile bitter. “We must swear the household to silence. I have already done so with the few I could catch last night, but you must issue a final order. They’ll listen to your authority better.” But Sanada shook his head, exhaling heavily. There were too many people who’d seen it, and no matter how loyal they considered themselves to be, there were too many weak links to be exploited. There was no point in doing this, and Yanagi knew it too. Yanagi just wanted to give Sanada something to do, they both knew Sanada was not someone who liked to feel helpless. 

“The truth will out. We shall prepare to fight them immediately, instead of suffer the evil of their judgement in our house. Righteousness will always win on the battlefield, be it theirs or ours.” Sanada said, coldly, pressing his fist into his hand, loudly.

But Yanagi shook his head, slowly and sadly. “If Atobe’s godspoken told them to invade, we are not following giri. It will serve us better to invite them here and attempt to smoothe out the situation.” But there was a calculating look in Yanagi’s eyes and Sanada knew that Yanagi simply wished to poison them and murder them in their bed, as his specialty in espionage dictated. But Yanagi was not godtouched, he didn’t understand the anguish that arose from the sheer thought of not following giri, the swelling wave of despair and uncleanliness that filled up every cavity of Sanada’s insides. Oh, not _now_ , he had no water on him. 

With a pained groan, Sanada prostrated himself in silent sorrow, facing the Rising East, towards the ever beautiful ocean, somewhere behind the paper walls, and prayed for the gods to guide his actions. _If it is my sin, I alone must atone. Destroy me entirely. I am your loyal servant, I will not protest to this decision. But spare my people; they merely had the misfortune of being under your unworthy servant’s power. They deserve no pain for following their sense of giri._

And the gods replied, much to Sanada’s relief. 

Y҉̛̰̟̻̮̦O̶̤̲̺̣͚͞͠U̲̦̞̙̮̕ ̷͚̥̭̗̜̳̜͎͝M͟͏̠̣̰̜͇͕͎U̴̴̹̖̣̪̲̮̯̞͡S͕Ţ͓̣̦̫̘͇ͅ ̵̬͕͈͈R҉̧̣̦̰͈E̷̴̢̲S̨̰̩I҉̝̰͎̙͉̻͎ͅS̸̹͚̟̹͢T̵̳͎̣̳̣͢ ͏̵̣͠Į͇̟̝͚̥̖̕Ņ̸̖ ̷͈̮̯̖̭͇͉̖͠G̶̯̲̣̫͇͕̹̖͜͠Ǫ̵͈͕̖͎̀O̼͇̤̹͔̗̟̮D̀͏̱̖͉͎̱̯̥ ̴̜̝͜͞G̫̻̖R̰͉̳̘͇̲̙̀̀A̭̤̹̺̗̣̦C̵̲̤̯͕̱̝̭̳E̱̝̳̞̬͜

 

The words reverberated so loudly that Sanada was surprised that the whole building was not shaking from their force. But their voices were for him alone, and as their vessel, he involuntarily shuddered. _In battle? With honour and dignity? Or as Renji suggests?_

To this, there was no answer. Yanagi watched, mild expression of concern on his face as Sanada slowly rose up again. “They want us to stand up. ‘Resist in Good Grace’. It is not graceful for a host to poison his guests. I will have our troops regroup for another battle.” 

Yanagi’s shoulders dropped and Sanada looked down, unable to meet Yanagi's gaze. The soldiers of Rikkai were strong and hardy, but he and Yanagi both knew that they would have no strength, not after just having fought a bitter and unrewarding battle. They were not ready to face the Kingdom’s best fighters. But he would not besmirch his own honour, nor their honour in this attempt. Better to lose their lives with pride than to live and win as a traitor and corrupt fool. “Tell them to stay at home for as long as possible, before they regroup once more. Call the main samurai for a strategy meeting tomorrow, there is much to discuss. We must also discuss siege warfare, in case they decide to cut off our supplies on their march inwards. We need medical supplies for Seiko, otherwise she will have trouble.”

For a moment, Yanagi’s eyes opened, brown and tired, but filled with resigned determination. “She will not die.” he said, fully certain, as he moved his teapot away. “The gods will not let her die. But we poor soldiers on the other hand...”

“...informally, what is your prediction?” asked Sanada, licking his lips, looking up to meet Yanagi’s passive gaze. Niou had been blessed with prophetic visions, but Yanagi had developed his own way of fortunetelling, by the _simple_ act of understanding everyone and everything. 

“Little hope for you and me. But if you place Akaya in charge of defending Seiko, he will have a chance.” Yanagi said, as he rose from his place, possessing more grace than even the best of geishas. His face was entirely impassive, but Sanada could almost feel the tension and despair rising from Yanagi’s shoulders. “You must properly refresh his memory on the death rites, so we may both reach Amaterasu in death.”

And with that, he swept from his quarters, leaving Sanada to stare at the simple screen that was propped against the wall, an uneasy prickling sensation across the surface of his skin. The gods were displeased. Exhaling lightly, Sanada got up to purify himself and find Akaya.

(X)

To Sanada’s slight frustration, finding Akaya meant going to Seiko’s garden. She had not been capable of truly tending to her plants for eight years, but still, Sanada always felt like he was being watched and judged by the plants when he entered, accusing him of not doing enough to save their benefactor. But Akaya loved the garden and the layout and tranquility, which Sanada had always found surprising from a boy like Akaya. 

Ducking past a large tree, groaning under the weight of the ample ripe fruit hanging from its branches, Sanada found Akaya sparring a limping Marui, with a casual banter. Marui laughed, tipping his head back as Akaya tripped over one of the cobblestones and Sanada couldn’t help but feel a little amused, as he leant back against the tree. Akaya surged to his feet, accusing Marui of sabotage and Marui replied by rapping Akaya around the head, with his shinai. This started a further round of complaining and this time, Sanada chuckled, softly. 

Both of their voices tapered off as they noticed him watching and Sanada made sure to wipe the fond smile from his face, as quickly as possible. “Marui, you’re dismissed.” he said, brusquely. “Go find Yagyuu, he says that he has a salve to help with the pain.” Marui bowed, shallowly, before disappearing quickly, melting into the branches. Akaya warily picked up the discarded shinai, and leant them up against one of the trees, gaze on Sanada the whole time. “And what do you want?” asked Akaya, a belligerent tone lacing his voice, before he winced loudly and dived for the koi pond at the edge of the garden, submerging his hands entirely in the water. 

Sanada waited for Akaya to finish murmuring his prayers, and this time, there was a more serious look in Akaya’s eyes, as he scampered upwards. “The gods say we are to fight...?” he asked, green eyes narrowing. “You’re finally taking me with you, right?”

Sanada didn’t think much of Akaya, despite Akaya’s status as Seiko’s great-nephew, but the gods spoke through Akaya with the same frequency that they spoke through Sanada, and they seemed far more tolerant of many of Akaya’s actions. He was also innumerably brilliant at getting people to do what he wanted, by liberal use of violence interspersed with his innate boyish charm. There was no denying his relation to Yukimura, which was perhaps one of the only reasons that Sanada grudgingly accepted him. 

“No.” Sanada said, coolly, and before Akaya could make a fuss, he grabbed one of the bokken, and rapped it squarely against Akaya’s back. “Seiza, now.”

Confused, Akaya followed instructions, and Sanada took a seat next to him, at the edge of the koi pond, where the fish swam, mindlessly. “Do you know why the godspoken exist?” asked Sanada, running his hands through the water as a pre-emptive cleansing measure. 

“To do the will of the gods, and let the rest of humanity follow our example as the blessed ones, who interpret the words of our forefathers.” Akaya said, rolling his eyes, his shoulders dropping a little. It was a principle that every noble child learned early on in their life, but it was one thing to say it. It was quite another to truly understand their duties from that. 

“And what was the first, most precious thing that the first godspoken whispered to us all?” asked Sanada, as he drew a small knife and laid it against the small pebbles that lined the edge of the pond. The Sanada Family Stone was held inside the knot of his obi, as ever, but Sanada saw no need to draw it out for a demonstration. These lesser stones would do, for now. 

“The Death Rit-- you’re leaving me here again.” Akaya said, as the realization hit him, a frown forming on his face. “I’m old enough to join you! I can help you! I’m happy to die to defend Yukimura-dono and the gods call upon me to serve you!” he protested, hotly, grabbing the front of Sanada’s hakama. Sanada, unravelling his bandages on his hand, pushed away his hands, gently but firmly. 

“Quiet.” Sanada said, as he sliced his hand, lightly, before he started to recite the 108 names of his gods, and a quick ode to their greatness. Akaya subsided, mutinously, and watched Sanada, in sullen silence, as the blood slowly welled in Sanada’s palm and Sanada made slow, deliberate hand gestures at certain intervals in the prayer. Upon uttering the hundred-and-eighth name, Sanada pressed his bleeding hand against the stone and spoke, “Sanada Geni’chirou, son of Sanada Genemaru, grandson of Sanada Gene’mon. Your time is done, and your soul is released from your body.” He paused a for a few moment, before turning to Akaya. “Then, you make a cut upon your left hand, and repeat the names of the gods, but touching the heart of the corpse. Then cremate the bodies as quickly as possible. Only the godspoken and the nobles must receive this ritual.”

Akaya’s mouth twitched, with slight frustration. “Are the names I recite my gods, or the gods of whomever died?” he asked, a more resigned tone to his voice. 

“Of you.” Sanada said, gravely. “The likelihood is that you will not know their gods, so we do not attempt to guess. You must do this for our enemies too, should their godspoken be incapable of doing it.” he said, glad that Akaya was taking this so seriously. Duty was rarely pleasant or enjoyable, but it was something that had to be done. For the first time since Akaya had arrived, four years ago, Sanada could almost see the boy understanding something. “But, for me, I would prefer that you use my gods.” he said, quietly. 

There was a silence between them, for a moment, as Akaya looked down towards where the koi were swimming, and plunged his hands into the water, mouthing prayers under his breath, eyes not looking up at Sanada. As he did so, Sanada cleaned the blood off the knife, careful to rinse off all traces of red and water from the blade. When he finished, Akaya was defiantly glaring at Sanada. “Why fight a battle you know you will lose?” asked Akaya, rising upwards. 

“Because to not fight will mean certain destruction, and doing anything else will not be honourable. And Rikkai is always honourable, even to our ends. ” Sanada said, standing also, as he sheathed his knife, and squeezed his palms into fists, to stop the blood from staining his hakama. 

“It’s not fair.” Akaya said, his tone clipped. “It’s not fair at all. You shouldn’t have to die!” he exploded, finally. “I can save you! Just let me come with you! I’ll win this whole goddamn thing for you! I’ll kill anyone who stands in Rikkai’s path!” Surging forward, Akaya grabbed the front of Sanada’s hakama and shook Sanada severely, green eyes wide open and pain wracking his voice. 

“We all have our duty.” Sanada said, solemnly, not touching Akaya with his bloody fists, as he wanted to. Instead, he stepped back, away from Akaya’s grasp and looked towards the slightly red water. “Yours is here, protecting our lady. Mine is on the battlefield, to die for my sins. And that is that.”

“It’s not fair!” howled Akaya, sinking to his feet. “She’s not even getting better and you’re going to die and Yanagi-senpai will die too, and then we’ll be all alone! The gods can’t ask this of us!” On the verge of saying something else, Akaya broke off, a strangled noise as he dived for the water, purifying himself, as he sobbed bitterly. 

Sanada joined him, carefully washing the blood off his own hands, ignoring the sting of pain against the open edges of the wound. “Duty will out, Akaya.” he said, quietly. “And we can always keep living.”

There were few reasons that Sanada had to keep Akaya around, His sword-fighting was often too violent and lacked honour. He frequently forgot how to address his elders with respect and easily lost his temper. And despite his status as godspoken, his intelligence was questionable at best, and his ability to follow-through with long-term instructions was near minimal. But his loyalty to Rikkai was unquestionable, and the effect he had upon the soldiers of Rikkai, binding them all closer, was something that only a Yukimura could do. He was not Sasuke, like Sanada had initially wanted, but he would more than certainly do. Akaya’s gaze rose upwards, towards the bright blue sky, and he sunk back on his heels, face tear-stained and resigned. 

Sad smile on his face, Sanada rose to his feet and walked back inside, to go and bandage his hands again, before he started to drip blood over the tatami flooring. 

(X)

No matter how busy his day was, Sanada _always_ made time to go and see Seiko, after evening sparring practise, or even later into the night, after his paperwork was finished. Not stopping to knock, Sanada slid her door open and shut it softly behind him. As ever, the room was dimmed, with only a lightly filtered lantern next to her bed, emitting faint shadow patterns across the sides of the walls that contrasted with the bright silks and intricate maps pinned there. The large table next to her bed was laden with curiosities from all over the world, brought initially to impress her and woo her, which now acted as trinkets to occupy her time. Shifting aside a few story-books and scrolls to clear some space, Sanada tossed a fond glance towards the bed, where Seiko rested, eyelashes fluttering lightly in her sleep. 

Her breathing eased a little as Sanada took a seat at her side, carefully pulling the open book from her loose grasp, to add to the stack. _The Exploits of Moriyama_ read the title and Sanada rolled his eyes. The things that the samurais bought in to read to Seiko. Sanada found it preposterous, but Seiko always enjoyed it, laughing raucously at the poorly feigned accents, and the stilted reading. 

She shifted slightly to face Sanada, and her eyes fluttered awake, instantly focusing on his face, without even a hint of tiredness. Her eyes were distant for a few moments, before she blinked and the milky white was replaced with the electric blue eyes that always captivated anyone who looked at her. “I was reading that.” she admonished, easily. 

Some godspoken only heard the voices of the gods in extreme times of troubles. Others like Rudolph’s Mizuki could ask a question and expect something vague to come in their direction, or even a full answer, if the gods were feeling generous. The more talented, like Sanada, Akaya and Akutagawa heard the moods of the gods frequently, but rarely got answers to their questions in plain language. But then there was Seiko, who was always talking and responding to the gods, to the point where they could speak through her, like a conduit. No matter how often it happened, it never failed to amaze Sanada in a small level. 

“You were asleep, you were hardly reading it.” Sanada said, leaning back in the chair and Seiko exhaled, light smile on her face that meant she was not entirely paying attention to him. 

“Stubborn fool.” she murmured to herself, but almost instantly, her eyes glazed over, unfocused and hazy, as the gods hijacked her speech. “You’re too troubled by what is happening outside of the Kingdom. The important thing is what you have unearthed in your heart.”

“And what would this discovery be?” asked Sanada, carefully, wondering how the lives of an entire clan could ever rank below his internal struggles. Years ago, he had always thrown himself to the ground when this happened, but now he knew enough to realize that the gods would not smite him for speaking to Seiko like he usually did, when they possessed her voice. 

Her gaze sharpened once again, and she weakly pushed herself upwards. Instantly, Sanada leant forward, to help her sit upright, placing cushions in strategic places. “Guilt.” she answered, as Sanada carefully folded her coverlet over her legs. “You feel so guilty for your actions that even after the gods are done with you, your guilt pushes them to extend your pain. Or, are the entire cause for your pain, if the newest hypotheses from those scientists in Tezuka’s realm are correct.”

“Blasphemy.” Sanada said, harshly, “You shouldn’t be reading that sort of disgusting heresy.” The sheer idea of that being true, sent cold shivers and itches everywhere along Sanada’s body and it took all of his self-control to keep sitting. No, he wasn’t going to purify for this. He was repulsed by it, he didn't need to purify himself for the act of hearing another's opinion. 

Seiko shrugged. “Perhaps. Or perhaps not. Nevertheless, one of us committing theological crimes is enough for the Kingdom, right?” she asked, in that cheerful nonchalant tone that did not suit the pale, almost paper-thin and cold guise she was trapped in. 

Sanada placed his hand softly over hers, his calloused fingers smoothing gently over her soft, paper-thin hands. Once, they had been just as calloused as his, with long hours spent practising fighting under the sun with Sanada's grandfather and playing various instruments, under the watchful gaze of her mother, but now, she was as immobile as any other lady. “It is not guilt, Seiko. It is my rightful punishment.”

“But it is. And you will not ever admit it, because you feel guilty about being guilty, since the gods ordered you to do it.” Seiko countered, impatiently brushing a strand of her long, unruly hair from her face, meeting Sanada’s gaze head-on. Sanada’s jaw tightened and Seiko scoffed. “They claim you have the emotional capacity of a rock, I’d like to meet this rock, it might be a better friend to me than most of you.” 

Sanada ignored her last comment and sighed. “Who wouldn’t feel guilty about killing off an entire clan? I have not yet served enough for a crime of that magnitude.” 

She weakly raised her hand up, and let gravity smack it down against his, her gaze reproachful. “It wouldn’t be an issue if you didn’t feel guilty about everything you do.” she said, wearily, “The ancestor gods worry about you. The other gods just want you dead, though, because you feel so guilty about everything, and it’s too much hassle to convince everyone to spare each other.” 

Sanada accepted her rebuke, quietly. “Then what do you suggest?” he asked, quietly, trying to ignore the rather unsettling conclusion that the gods were divided on an issue. 

“Stop being so guilty and self-pitying, and maybe I’ll be able to gain enough traction to argue for your punishment to be less.” Seiko said, coldly. “The gods can speak again to Akutagawa in pictures, and convince Atobe to change his course. But you have to stop feeling guilty for everything, including things that aren’t under your control. About Sasuke’s absence, about my body, about the actions you take for the betterment of your kingdom, and the actions you take to follow giri. Accept it. Don’t ascribe additional emotional value to it. It is done, regret will not change that.” 

Sanada turned away, pressing his eyes together. It was easy for Seiko to say, she had never felt the need to purify herself, she didn’t know the disapproving crawl of the gods against her insides, every time she failed. Still, she suffered in other ways, sprawled out on this bed, for her crippling hubris. 

“I am weak. I do not think I am capable of removing my guilt for my actions alone.” Sanada said, wearily, placing his forehead down against the bedspread, until he was bent over, and his back ached from the post-sparring stretch. 

With a mild smile, Yukimura’s fingers brushed against his cheek, and beckoned him up, until she shared the large bed with him, his arms around her small, fragile body. Slowly, painstakingly, she removed his bandages, opening his cuts from that morning to the air, half clotted already. Without any mercy, she pressed her thumbs into his wounds, and hummed a song. Sanada’s breathing didn’t change as the blood slowly started to well up and out from his palm, reluctantly oozing out of the wound. The gods murmured approvingly in his head, and Sanada let his eyes flutter shut. Focusing on the pain made it hard to think about anything else. And this pain was sharp, and stabbing, nothing like the torturous disapproval of the gods. It felt almost refreshing. 

Her breathing evened out and Sanada recognized the slightly raspy breathing of reaching the Gods. “YOÙR DUT҉Y HAS ͜B̷EE͟N S͜ÙF͜F̢IC͘IENT͡.” intoned Seiko, with the layered, monotone voice of the gods, “T̵HEY͟ ͏WÍL̀L̛ C̨OM̛E̸ IN PEACE.͏ MER̢CY͢ IS A ̷G͝IF͜T N̴O̴T A͜ R̷EQU͝I̡R͡EME̵NT.” 

And just as Sanada started to feel uneasy, Seiko returned, in a ragged breath, of a broken body. “You hear that?” she asked, leaning back against him, contently. “I’m powerful and speak with the gods directly. But someone else has been speaking with them, like I do. Or you would not have received that threat.” she said, sounding pensive. “Tell Renji to go and look for him. If he works for someone who means us harm, this could end poorly.”

As Sanada made to get up and do her bidding, she made an impatient noise in her throat, filled with pride and want together. So Sanada subsided, wrapped his arms around her waist delicately, and murmured words of fealty into her ears, until she truly slept. 

(X)

“If they truly come in peace, we must greet them well. Our supplies for siege preparation can easily become a feast, with some swift actions, and we will be able to send the soldiers home.” Yanagi murmured the next day, cloistered in Seiko’s dim room surrounded by paper and maps. His voice still sounded skeptical, but he made the plans nevertheless. It was what Sanada had come to expect of his old friend, who made contingency plans for all sorts of outcomes, no matter how unlikely. “You must welcome them in, if they come, Seiko.”

The woman in the bed snorted, softly, fingers twisting in the soft silk of her covers. “A cripple girl standing to welcome the Lords that would have previously slain her? It’s a manoeuvre that would only work if they were attacking without the backing of gods behind them. A show of strength is far better.” 

“You forget your status as strongest of the godspoken.” Sanada reminded, gravely, as he looked over the letters from the samurai on their way here to fight. It would be quite the surprise to simply arrive for a feast, and Sanada regretted it. 

“That title belongs to someone who can walk and fight regularly.” she said, with a bitter laugh. “My current state is simply pathetic. Do not make me a laughing stock, Renji, I will not have it.” 

Yanagi leant back, face impassive and servile. But it was clear to Sanada that the adviser was frustrated by Seiko’s remarks and the tone of this conversation. Seiko’s eyes shut, and she exhaled, murmuring something under her breath, to the silent observers above them. “Fine. If I can walk and feel well that day, I’ll welcome them. But I _will_ be introducing Sanada as the main Lord of Rikkai. My legacy will mean nothing with my current weakness.” she snapped, eyes slightly glazed. Were the gods telling her this? 

Sanada exchanged glances with Yanagi, who looked innumerably pleased. “I am grateful for your circumscriptive logi--”

“Get out, you sarcastic prick.” she snapped, but she was smiling. “You too, you insufferable mother hen. I want to sleep a little.” 

Bowing lowly, Sanada and Yanagi left the room, carefully shutting the door behind them, blinking furiously as they entered the sunlight again. The moment they were out of earshot, Yanagi grinned, uncharacteristically emotive in that moment. “Don’t bother preparing anything to say to the Kingdom’s forces. _If_ the gods have told her this, she will walk on that day.” 

“But she has just walked...it takes a month usually for her to regather her strength...” Sanada said, tossing a glance back towards her quarters. 

“They will extract some price from her later.” Yanagi said, lightly shrugging. “But Rikkai will be able to show off their beautiful lady to the Kingdom. The gods have given us this much.” For a moment, there was something bright in his wide, brown eyes, before they shut again, returning Yanagi to his careful passiveness. “Do not look so surprised. We are still the nation with the largest godspoken populace, almost 2% than any other territory. They _must_ shine upon us.” 

“But Renji,” Sanada murmured, as they entered Yanagi’s quarters and took a seat by his table. “Seiko said that some gods wish to kill me, yet. But some only wish for our wellbeing. How can this be? How can the gods themselves disagree?”

Yanagi frowned, as he grabbed his seal from the desk, and slowly smoothed out a new scroll of parchment. “Well, there are an awful lot of them, Genichirou. It was almost guaranteed that one of them will not agree with your actions. But the gods do not hold grudges for long. Their memories are short and fickle, they will not harbour a need to kill you. Even now, Seiko tells me that some gods debate her own punishment.”

Jaw jutting out, Sanada grimaced. “If the gods themselves cannot come to a unanimous consensus, what hope do us humans have?” he muttered, face pale. Truly, he hadn’t imagined this, not in his wildest nightmares. He had always thought the gods favoured those who were good and that they always knew what was good. “...what if the godvoices make wrong decisions?” he questioned softly, before the incessant urge to purify himself for such thoughts, rose up in his chest. 

“Don’t worry so much.” Yanagi said softly, repeating Seiko’s advice from the day before. “They speak to you. You are more worthy than the large majority of our population.” 

But his status wasn't what worried Sanada. How many people had he killed in the the names of the gods? Were they wrong about that? Did they find his constant need for purification amusing? The feeling of being unclean persisted and increased, with every dark thought that popped into his head, but Sanada walked away from Yanagi’s comforting touch, to finish off his paperwork, defiant of his urges to purify himself. Perhaps he would pay for this later, but on the heels of such a revelation he felt ill, and couldn’t bring himself to do anything but ruminate on his thoughts, no matter how blasphemous the gods insisted they were. 

(X)

The day that the Kingdom delegates were slated to arrive, found Sanada sparring in the dojo, long past the time that he did so usually. Perhaps this was unnecessary, his inward tension, but he couldn’t shake the feeling of something being wrong about this entire farce.

In one deft swoop, Sanada disarmed Jackal and barged him down to the ground, in a swift three point attack. Jackal grinned ruefully, from underneath Sanada’s shinai, and pulled himself up, the sweat drenching the collar of his hakama. While not as powerful as the other members of Rikkai, his stamina rivalled that of Sanada’s, and as such, was the only person who had been able to keep up with Sanada. 

From the side, light polite applause sounded across the rafter, and Sanada whirled around with confusion. His defeat of Jackal was hardly something extraordinary, after all, but what awaited him, stole his breath away entirely. 

Clad in an intricate kimono that trialed across the floor, and with the ceremonial sword every daimyo carried to court hanging from her obi, was Yukimura Seiko, standing and walking without support. Her face was fully painted white, her red lips curved up into a pleased smirk at the sight of Sanada’s shock. For a moment, it looked like a ghost had come back to them. but his eyes were drawn to the paper-thin skin of her spindly arms and the veins drawn taut. No, it was Seiko, painted to have no flaws or signs of illness. 

“Seiko-gozen.” said Sanada, dropping down to his knees, in a respectful bow. “Your presence and approval honours your humble servant’s actions more than is deserved.” 

“Perhaps there is confusion in our understanding of what is deserved.” she murmured, lightly. “Rise Sanada-dono, I want to walk with you.” Her hands were trembling as she tucked them into the sleeves of her kimono and Sanada’s heart ached. He hastened to obey her orders, coming to her side quickly, as a discreet support, and at a stately pace, they drifted down the corridor. 

“Has Renji seen you yet?” asked Sanada, unable to quite look away from her straight back and confident expression. “He said that had had something written for the speech tonight..”

“He picked out my kimono, actually.” she said, softly. “Bastard wanted to confirm his hypothesis, as early as possible, so he wakes up at dawn and drags the servants into helping me dress as well.” But she was touched and happy, Sanada could tell that from the slightly wistful smile on her face.

Sanada let the fabric run through his fingers, briefly. “He has a good eye. You look radiant.” 

“And if the other Lord of Rikkai is to match me, he had better change, or Atobe will murder him on account of his ungodly stench.” she quipped, lightly. “Were it not impolite, I’d push you into my pond right now.” 

Raising an eyebrow at Seiko, who was struggling to keep back her laughter, he very deliberately called for a servant to pour him some hot water. He hadn’t seen her in such spirits since she had first collapsed, almost eight years ago. It was all too much like a ghost of mirth had come back to them, and Sanada wouldn’t really mind if this one lingered among them forever. 

As they entered his quarters together, the servant looked momentarily scandalized, before bowing lowly and scurrying from the room. Sanada paid it little heed, stripping himself down and getting into the bath, but Seiko snickered lightly, from where she took a seat at the edge of Sanada’s room. “Poor chaste friend, this isn’t even the worst of things we’ve done.” she said to herself, with light amusement. 

Sanada said nothing, taking deep pleasure at the vague sensation of uncleanliness fade away with the lightly steaming hot water against his skin. “She would be less scandalized if we were married.” he said, easily after some time, when it seemed evident that Seiko was absorbed in her thoughts and unlikely to change the topic, like usual. 

“Sorry.” she said, not sounding very apologetic. “Though I bet you’re glad that I turned you down, ten years ago.”

Sanada sat up a little straighter in the tub and gave Seiko a sharp look. “How could I associate that day with anything but deep regret?”

“Your line doesn’t have to deal with a sterile cripple.” said Yukimura, serenely, as if she was saying something completely normal, instead of a too-harsh self-condemnation. Her eyes were shut, and Sanada wasn’t sure whether the gods were telling her this or whether she truly thought this. 

“How could you ever say that of yourself?” asked Sanada, dismissing the idea that the gods could think that of the best of the godspoken. They were sometimes wrong, perhaps, but could not be relentlessly cruel. “I have done nothing but love you deeply, for your inner light has never once dimmed.” 

Seiko regarded him, her bright blue eyes clear and sharp. “And you would endanger your line? You? For whom giri’s call is tantamount to the universe? You need an heir to carry on your legacy, and you need a young, beautiful wife to cement your standing. Do your damned duty, Sanada.” 

Sanada frowned. “If there was one thing that my elder brother did correctly before his death, it was to bring Sasuke into the world and leaving him in the care of our grandfather. All I have to do is adopt him, and he would be grateful for an update in status: little remains of our original lands.” 

“You know nothing about Sanada Sasuke, he could be the downfall of Rikkai.” Seiko said, sharply, and Sanada slapped the side of the tub, a sudden hot fury overtaking him. 

“Then I would make Akaya the de-facto heir, your blood and your infuriating temperament runs through his veins! He’s the clear successor to all of us. Nobody would dispute it. If those were the only reasons you had to deny me, I would never have taken no for an answer!” Sanada snapped, every word uttered, fueling the anger rising inside of him. Had such trifles really stopped Seiko from marrying him? 

Seiko sneered, rising swiftly from her chair. “You asked me ten years ago, moron. I denied you because I wanted my achievements to remain my own, and my land to remain under my name. Now, I will not marry you for your own sake.” 

“This is ridiculous, and you know it. I had thought the gods had bid you celibate and said nothing against your decision.” Sanada said, glaring her down, without any of his usual fear of doing anything like that. 

“So what will you do, _Sanada_? Marry us in front of the Kingdom? A physical cripple to a _mental_ cripple? What irony! I hear Atobe preceded the wedding of his long-time servant, will you ask him to marry us too?” Her face was alight and sharp with spite, fury through her veins making her skin look more alive, and even though Sanada was almost shaking with anger, he couldn’t help but admire how she looked. 

Sanada made to speak up, but she cut over him, stepping forward, with one loud thud of her geta against the floor. “Find a beautiful woman who had not been god-cursed, bed her and pray your heir is not so woestricken as us two!” she snapped, a few hairs coming loose of her elaborate hairstyle, in her vigour. 

Sanada was about to say something, when a sharp sensation of crawling started to fill his stomach, and he plunged himself under the water quickly, holding his breath as he recited a quick version of his prayers. He surfaced up, as the feeling went away and did not meet Seiko’s gaze, trying to calm himself slowly. He picked up his towel, and dried himself off, letting the monotonous action calm him down slowly. As he stepped into his robe, he turned to face Seiko, his anger almost completely gone. “I have always loved you. I will continue to love you and support you, married or not. I will not burden another with this load I have carried for so long. Only you and Renji may see it, for you are both nakama and more.”

Seiko exhaled, shakily, but a little of the fury had departed her thin frame. “I am tired.” she said, quietly. “And the gods tell me that for this day, I will be bedridden for half a year. At this rate, I will die. I will not leave you with the burden of a widow. Nor will I leave Renji with that.”

“Why have you given up?” asked Sanada, kneeling down in front of her, clasping her hands, gently. “You who influence the gods themselves. You who have lived my life, countless times. You whose name the kingdom's infidels cannot even bear to say.”

She smiled down bitterly at him, lightly squeezing his palms. “You are not tired yet. You will understand should you ever reach this point. I pray that you never will.” Her eyes were glazed over and Sanada couldn’t help but bow his head and let a few tears shed, washing her hands in the pain of what-could-have-been and what-never-will-be.


End file.
